The Twelve Dancing Princesses Page 2

  “Fall into my bunk at the barracks,” Quinn said.

  “Amen!” Roy clasped his hands together and raised them to the sky. “Though I wouldn’t say no to a bath. I think I have some troll drool dried behind my ears.”

  Quinn laughed. “That’s what you get for trying to dive between its legs.”

  “In that case, you two are dismissed.” Kenneth said. “Enjoy your time off.”

  “You too, sir,” Roy and Quinn chorused.

  When they reached the water fountain that marked the entrance of the military compound, they peeled off—Kenneth going towards the officer’s building so he could inform their superior, Sergeant Jennabeth, of their patrol.

  Together, Quinn and Roy stumbled towards the men’s and women’s barracks.

  “I hope we get taken off forest patrols soon.” Quinn rolled her neck, still trying to loosen up her protesting muscles. “I could use a chance to train some more.”

  When Roy said nothing in response, Quinn glanced at him, concerned he had fallen asleep on his feet again. Instead, her fellow soldier stared up at the royal palace—a magnificent structure built on the top of a hill with waterfalls cascading from the east and the west. The water made an eternal rainbow glitter over it whenever the sun was out.

  “Roy?” she asked.

  “You know,” he started, “I’ve thought about volunteering.”

  Quinn blinked. “For what?”

  Roy nodded at the palace. “To see if I can solve the princesses’ mystery.”

  It was probably the last thing Quinn expected him to say.

  King Dirth had twelve daughters ranging from ages twenty-three to eleven. That alone was enough to make people talk. But the much-publicized mystery had started roughly three and a half years ago. Every night the princesses retired to their chambers. By morning, they emerged from their quarters, tired, and their slippers from the previous night were worn through as if they had spent all night on their feet.

  The princesses would say nothing of what they did every night, but it was known that they did not leave their room—for guards stood outside their chamber doors.

  Twelve princesses requiring a new pair of shoes each night quickly turned costly, so King Dirth had hired chamber maids to stay in the princesses’ room with them to be assured they retired. The maids fell asleep—sometimes for hours and sometimes for days at a time—and woke up with foggy memories. The king tried separating the girls and removing them all from the palace. The country was plagued by massive stormfronts and unseasonably cold weather until the princesses all returned to the palace.

  Desperate, King Dirth offered a reward to anyone who could solve the mystery of the princesses’ nightly activities—which some were now calling a curse. The prize for clearing up the strange events was to marry the princess of their choice, or—if the triumphant winner was a female—the title of duchess and a sizable amount of money.

  Quinn joined Roy in peering up at the palace. “Everyone who tries their hand at discovering where the princesses go every night either falls asleep and wakes up with foggy memories or worse—they disappear forever.”

  “I know,” Roy said. “But most everyone who has tried has been a noble or some rich dandy.”

  “Because we common folk know better,” Quinn laughed.

  “Maybe, but I can’t help thinking a soldier like me might be better prepared. ‘Sides, I wouldn’t mind marrying a princess.” He grinned slyly at Quinn, who forced herself to keep her usual smile in place.

  Yep, he doesn’t remember at all that I’m female. She pushed her disappointment to the back of her mind. “Should I start calling you Your Highness?” She asked jokingly.

  Roy laughed. “You’re a whippersnapper, Midnight.” He slung his arm over her shoulders. “But worry not. When I become a prince, I’ll still remember you. You can become my chief holster when I’m rich and royal.”

  “How kind of you. I look forward to the day I get to hoist your saggy bum on top of a horse that is too spirited for you, just like the rest of the Farset nobles,” Quinn said.

  “You pain me, to think that my perfectly sculpted bum could ever grow saggy, Midnight.”

  They laughed, stumbling together as they staggered up the steps of the barracks, parting ways so they could each go to their building.

  There’s nothing to worry about, Quinn thought as she waved farewell to her longtime friend. He’s too smart to do something foolhardy like volunteer. She nodded as she entered the women’s barracks. By the time she fell face-first into her bunk, she had dismissed Roy’s comment as exhausted babblings and was asleep before she could kick her boots off.

  * * *

  That evening a much-rested Quinn trotted up the steps that led to the Rider stables.

  “Name?” asked the pair of royal guards stationed outside the stable doors.

  “Quinn of Midnight Lake.” Quinn smiled at the guards, recognizing them from previous trips to visit her younger sister.

  One of them glanced at the scroll of paper he had unrolled when he saw her coming. “Your sister is with her horses.”

  “Thanks—I’ve been chasing her across the city for the past hour.” Quinn wrinkled her nose, then renewed her smile and slipped into the stable.

  The sweet scent of hay and grain wafted through the air, but they were almost covered by the crisp sent of mint, created by the sprigs of the herb that were hung from the rafters to disguise the smell of horse droppings.

  The stable itself was gorgeous with glass windows and beautiful, open-air stalls that were decorated with intricate horse carvings. Quinn knew from experience that in winter, the walls were lined with elaborately embroidered tapestries, and fresh shavings were brought in every day to fill the stalls so deep she would sink up to her ankles in it.

  The King spared no expense for the magicus mounts: the color horses.

  Quinn passed by the purple horses—grays and blacks that each glowed with a faint purple sheen—and nodded gravely to them whenever one of the horses turned a bright eye in her direction.

  Next up were her targets—the red horses. Red roans, bays that glowed red, and chestnuts with coats that flickered like flames occupied the stalls. One bay—a tall gelding—jingled his head up and down.

  Quinn strolled up to the stall and peered inside to see her younger sister—Bridget, the Red Rider—picking out the gelding’s hooves.

  “I wondered if you would ever get a day off, or if your Sergeant Jennabeth meant to kill you through exhaustion and overwork,” Bridget said without looking up from her task.

  Quinn leaned against the stall. “Hello to you, too.”

  Bridget released the gelding’s hoof and patted his side as she inspected Quinn with narrowed eyes. “You don’t look injured.”

  “I’m fine,” Quinn said soothingly. “Great, actually. I have two full days leave.”

  Bridget—whose temperament somewhat resembled a hedgehog—raised an eyebrow. “Saints be praised. You haven’t had that in, what, a year?”

  The gelding offered Quinn his giant head. She bowed her head respectfully at the horse before she rubbed his forehead as he had wordlessly requested. “It hasn’t been that bad. Besides, you’re one to talk. On the few occasions I’ve had more than a day off, you and your fine crew are off saving Farset.”

  Bridget was one of the famed Color Riders: The Red Rider, to be precise. One rider was assigned to a small herd of elf-gifted horses who shared similar coloring. Each color rider and his/her horses were considered direct representatives of the King and fulfilled a unique purpose.

  As the Red Rider, Bridget represented the King’s Wrath. She and her horses—who technically belonged to King Dirth but would allow only Bridget to ride them during missions—were the sole battle-ready bunch of the Color Riders. Bridget and a handful of her horses could destroy a dozen wraiths in moments.

  It was a great honor, particularly given that Bridget was one of the youngest riders ever. (She was also probably the shortest rider
ever, but this was a sore point Quinn—who was taller than average—was too nice to mention.)

  Bridget grunted. “I should be gone just as often as you, but His Majesty insists on keeping me around the palace.”

  “Still?” Quinn asked sympathetically.

  “Yes. He seems convinced that the princesses’ mysterious curse will one day snap and my services will be needed to banish whatever has them acting so.” Bridget snorted like one of her horses.

  “Perhaps he is right,” Quinn said. “Wraiths and the occasional troll didn’t start appearing in the forest until the princesses’ curse set in.”

  “I think it’s more likely that our foes started multiplying when it became obvious the elves were not leaving Alabaster Forest,” Bridget said, naming the sacred residence where not even the Farset King dared to venture without an invitation.

  “That’s far more likely,” Quinn acknowledged, “but I was trying to make you feel better.”

  Bridget leaned sourly against the gelding. “It didn’t work.”

  Quinn brushed reddish horse hair off her hand. “Then I’m afraid I’m about to make your mood worse. My band and I found and killed two goblins during our patrol tour.”

  “Goblins?” Bridget asked.

  The gelding stirred at the word and twitched his lips back to reveal bared teeth.

  “Yep,” Quinn said. “It’s the first I’ve heard of them entering Farset. It’s just a guess, but they’re probably heading north from Sole. A bunch of them were attacking Sole villages with the rogue mage Carabosso. The Magic Knights have been making short work of them, but I can imagine some of them managed to flee north to our fair country.”

  “When Rider Neera,” Bridget said, naming the Purple Rider, “got back from that multi-country Summit, she said Erlauf has been having many troubles with goblins. Maybe they went north in Erlauf, up through what used to be Trieux?”

  “We’ve seen so few, I think it is unlikely the goblins could come that far alone, given that they’re pack creatures.” Quinn pushed her thick blonde hair—which was down for once, as she was off duty—over her shoulder. “But if they start becoming more common, I would guess you’re right.”

  Bridget sighed. “If so, I would much rather be wrong. On happier topics, have you heard from our parents? Or Mack?”

  Quinn laughed outright. “The day our older brother writes to me I’ll know someone has died. But I received a letter from Mum. She spoke of the new plow horse and Mack making googly eyes at the dyer’s daughter.”

  Bridget shrugged. “She’s not the worst girl in the village. He could do better, but without us to guide him, I doubt he’ll have the brains to see it. Do you want to go for a ride? Lustro here says he’ll take you.”

  Quinn backed away from the stall as if it were on fire. “No, I couldn’t possibly.”

  Bridget rolled her eyes. “He wouldn’t throw you.”

  “He’s the king’s horse!”

  “Lustro does whatever he likes, regardless of the king,” Bridget said. The gelding snorted, as if in agreement. “Obviously, or I wouldn’t be the Red Rider. Come now. He says he’ll even let you use a saddle.”

  “No, thank you,” Quinn said firmly.

  “Are you sure? You’re the only one any of my fellows are willing to carry. It’s quite an honor—they must see something in you that they like,” Bridget said.

  “It’s probably that they see we are related,” Quinn said.

  “Maybe, maybe not. Come on. It’ll be fun!” Bridget grinned recklessly.

  Quinn ignored her sister and turned to the mythical horse. “Thank you for the honor.” Quinn bowed her head slightly. “But I’m not worthy. I think it better if I ride Din,” Quinn said, referring to the retired cavalry horse she had purchased the previous year. She had saved every penny she earned for years to be able to afford her and her board and upkeep. But Quinn came from a horse-hearted family, and the small sacrifice was well worth owning her spunky mare.

  “Riding a regular horse—even one as fine as Din—cannot compare to riding a magicus,” Bridget said.

  Quinn’s smile turned tight. “Perhaps one day.”

  Bridget rolled her eyes. “You can face a wraith with a smile and kill a troll by yourself, but you’re afraid to ride a horse.”

  “A magic horse given to the king—to you—by the elves,” Quinn stressed. “A horse bred for fighting.”

  Bridget cocked her head. “I would think that would be reassuring—it would be like trotting around with one of your army mates.”

  Quinn shook her head. “No, but I thank you—both of you, for the honor.”

  Quinn would rather strip buck-naked and face five wraiths by herself than ride one of the magicus mounts. It wasn’t just that the horses shared a magical bond with their rider and were stronger, faster, and smarter than the average horse, or even that they were considered the king’s property; it was that they came from the elves.

  Quinn had complicated feelings for the elves, who had made the Alabaster Forest of Farset their only residence on the continent. That they hadn’t come out of their forest in over five years only heightened her unease. Folks claimed that the elves had been cursed, that they had given up hope for mankind, or even that they had abandoned the woods altogether and gone back across the seas to the lands from which they originally came.

  She didn’t put much stock in any of it, but the thought of them still made her uncomfortable. They were so much more than humans…

  “I’m holding an evening practice with my herd tonight,” Bridget said interrupting Quinn’s musings. “But I will be free tomorrow. Do you want to dine together at the Sappy Pine Inn?”

  “Sure. I better get going myself—the soldiers’ mess will close in an hour, and I’m sure the rest of Band Gallant is waiting for me. Until tomorrow?” Quinn asked.

  “Until tomorrow,” Bridget echoed.

  Quinn scratched the gelding’s head again before she left the stables the same way she had come in.

  The military complex was on the opposite side of the palace, so Quinn purposely jogged back through the city, trying to warm up her stiff and aching body. She felt a little better by the time she ducked through the darkened entrance of the mess hall, smiling when she caught sight of Kenneth and Guy seated at a table. (They were a bit of an odd pair with Kenneth being meticulously groomed, his perfectly combed dark hair splashed with a hint of gray at the temples, and his face cleanshaven, a direct opposite to Guy’s dirty-blond hair, which resembled a rat’s nest.)

  By the time Quinn had grabbed some roasted quail, cherry pottage, a hard roll, and a pint of ale, the duo was almost finished.

  Kenneth nodded at Quinn when she set her food down and joined them at the table. “How is your sister?”

  “She’s good—as are her horses. I won’t be here tomorrow night—we’re meeting for dinner,” Quinn said as she gnawed at her roll. “How are your parents, Guy?”

  Guy sipped his ale. “Well enough. Mum worries about us with all the wraiths. She’s convinced Roy might catch another cold this winter, so she pushed a bunch of noxious treatments on me that would probably do him more harm than good.”

  Quinn laughed. “She’s a good lady.”

  “You would say that.” Guy rested his head on his propped-up fist. “She sent you a cream tart. Even I didn’t get a cream tart.”

  “So, did you eat mine?” Quinn asked.

  “Course not! I dropped it off at your barrack.”

  “You’re the best mate a girl could ask for, Guy,” Quinn said.

  Leigh plopped down abruptly at their table. “What bit of good did Guy do to make you say that?”

  “Leigh!” Band Gallant greeted her happily.

  Kenneth leaned back in his chair and sipped his ale. “Stopping by after picking up your month’s pay?”

  “Precisely. I couldn’t head home when I knew the bunch of you would be nearby. Can’t stay long, though. The husband made goat-kid pie in celebration of our two day
s off,” Leigh said.

  The interchange was a familiar one. Though the Farset army was one of the smallest in the continent, it made up for its size in the training of its soldiers and in the strength of its forces.

  For starters, it was built on the foundation of team work, with each brigade, platoon, and squad being built on the back of smaller units of soldiers who were individually selected to serve together—like Band Gallant. Soldiers in bands were taught and trained to rely on each other and bond deeply so that the small units were practically invulnerable.

  Quinn had been a part of Band Gallant since the day she finished her basic training and would stay with them for her entire career. The band came before all else.

  “Where are your children?” Quinn asked.

  Leigh chuckled, making her deep smile lines crinkle. “Ahhh, the little pests wanted to come, but I made them stay home for tonight. This needs to be a quick stop, and they would never settle for that.”

  Quinn joined in her friend’s mirth, but she paused when she noticed Kenneth’s furrowed brow and the puzzled slant to his mouth. “Something wrong?” she asked.

  Kenneth nodded behind her.

  Quinn turned around, her smile growing when she saw Roy making his way through the maze of tables, aiming for them. The change of his clothes, however, made her pause. He wore a loose plain cotton shirt that was smeared with dirt, trousers the color of molding leaves, and a pair of what looked like gardener’s gloves tucked into a pocket.

  When he finally reached them, Roy rocked forward and backward on the heels of his feet, his eyes bright with barely contained excitement. “Hail there!” he greeted the table.

  Kenneth leaned back in his chair and nodded. “Roy.” He itched the back of his head as he studied the soldier. “Is there something we should know?”

  Guy looked him up and down. “Seems like you’ve either lost your sense of cleanliness, or you’re changing careers.”

  Roy laughed heartily and took a chair, spinning it around so he sat in it backwards. “Neither! You are looking at the latest volunteer to uncover what the twelve princesses do every night!”